19th Nervous Breakdown

On our first trip

I tried so hard to rearrange your mind.

But after while I realized you were disarranging mine.

(Jagger/Richards)

______________________________________

"WHATTAYA WANT NOW?? Ya retahd, can't a guy get a rest around here?"

The first part Jerry heard, the second escaped her ear as Seth mumbled it under his breath. The inside of his hotel suite is strewn with fruit, beer bottles, broken glass and underware. Including the ceiling. And Austen hasn't even been over to visit yet. Seth scratches and stands, stretching, back arched, arms held high with fists balled tight. He yawns deeply before scratching again and then moseying his way towards the open balcony door, barefoot.

Jerry stands at the edge of hers, lighting another cigarette. As Seth appears on the balcony next door, he catches the first glimpse of her- hip out, one arm folded across her stomach, the other holding a lit cigarette in the air. He gets that eyebrow raised *I hafta swim across what river* look on his face. A thin whiff of smoke curls heavenward. Jerry's long hair lifts easy in a light breeze. Behind her an Aston Martin speeds in a direction it's driver would rather not be going. As he steps fully into her view, she stares evenly across from him, one of her eyebrows arched.

"You always address a lady in that tone?" ::Flicks an ash::

"Sorry, last night was killer . I forgot where I wa..."

Jerry interrupts him, "I am bored. Time to come through with your promise to entertain me."

"Whattya wanna do..... play Scrabble?"

As Seth stiffles a laff, Jerry just glares at him and turning on a heel, stalks into her hotel room. Hungover, Seth runs a hand over his face and back through what's left of his new haircut.

"This ain't gonna be as easy as I thought. Better call for backup. I'LL BE READY TO TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE PLATONIC IN 15 MINUTES. Long as I don't hafta wear that stupid monkey suit again."

With that, Seth disappears into his hotel room and quickly dials a number. As the phone connects he blurts his dilemma, ending with, "Yah, these old broads axshally expect ya ta get dressed and take 'em somewhere they wanna go. Not like the chicks I'm use ta in Basten. Tell one or two a dem ta meet ya at the softball field and make sure they bring the keg and they're happy as clams. Good times. If ya know what I mean. "

Seth listens, "Well thank yer lucky stars ya came in second, cuz this one's ALWAYS expectin' me to take 'er places. What's she think, a lamborghini, 6 million dolla apartment, and 100k makes me inta some kinda GIGOLO or somethin? Like, what's THAT about??" He listens.

"I'm hung over, I can't do that." He listens.

"I'm not goin' there ya geek." He listens and scratches.

"I areddy tried that, and besides she canned yer sorry a** for bringin it up." He listens and yawns.

"Awrite, awrite. If I hafta go somewhere meet us. I don't wanna spend the whole nite alone somewhere with a buncha stuffed shirts. I'll check ya there lata, Chicklets."

Seth tosses the phone back into it's cradle and heads for a much needed shower. In the cavernous bath he instead fills and climbs into a sumptious bathtub, making soap bubble hairdos and farts. In the next hotel room Jerry fumes and then makes a phone call of her own.

"Hello Rachel dear? What are you and Suzanne doing tomorrow night? Well, I'm still in Paris with Seth on a Kept date, but I've been rethinking. I'd been invited weeks ago by Mikus Ballard.. ::inhales:: ..yes the former private secretary of Prince Charles.. ::exhales:: to a dinner party at his fabulous London flat. I was going to pass, but think it might be in my best interest to make a showing. But I so don't want to go alone with Seth. ::Pouts:: He's still in Kept training and I feel he still needs my girls to bring him along. Oh, before I forget, Rachel, rumor has it that Ballard has managed to repair the split with Camilla and so even the Queen may be in attendance. Yes, even after his involvement in that horrible hypnosis incident years ago. He's such a charmer it's all been forgotten. You'll come? And you'll call Suzanne? Oh that's fabulous, just fabulous. I'll make a call and inform Mr Ballard to expect us for dinner tomorrow night. I'll see you then, sweet dreams dear. Good night."

After she hangs up the phone, Jerry dials Seth's room. Sitting with a Billy Idol soap bubble mohawk, he picks up the receiver of the French phone sitting at the edge of the tub.

"Hello. Seth? Nevermind about going out tonight. We will be flying back to London in the morning and I need my beauty rest. Be ready by 8 am. Oh, and tomorrow night- a dinner party. Goodnight."

As Jerry suddenly hangs up, Seth holds out the ornate phone receiver and just looks at it, trying to figure out which end hangs up where. Shrugging, he manages and returns to making little fountains spurt into the air by squeezing his hands just underwater. What does he care. He's still meeting Austen at some ravers club. Little do they know Ricardo is readying his dance moves high above it's gathering fake-IDed crowd.

Miles and miles away a restaurant in Soho clears out. Screaming patrons pour out of it's doors as the bartender hops the bar, trying to tackle the gloved one dressed in a pale brocade gown, clutching her purse and leaping from tabletop to tabletop, shrieking something about *never accepting that woman* as she pushes the one button of a curious red cube. He slips on a spilled drink and knocks himself out. The white haired woman disappears into the lavatory. The restaurant owner, hearing a commotion, comes running from his office and stops short, surveying the pandemonium. His manager rushes up to him breathless and tries to explain.

"Sir, the Queen ::Panting:: She's here. Somewhere :::Looks around:: She was, just a second ago. She was swinging from the chandelier." ::Points up::

They both look up at the crystal chandelier swaying to and fro above the empty, overturned chairs of the main dining room. Leaving the manager he quickly turns and rushes towards his office, shouting back over his shoulder, "Go find her, immediately! And do not call the police! The last thing we need is this kind of publicity!"

Arriving in his office the owner begins pacing silently on the plush carpet. He wonders just who it is he should call. Thinking hard he gathers his wits and flips through his rolodex. Finding the number he hasn't dialed in years, he punches numbers frantically. Across an ocean, Lace's phone rings. Her fingers flounder all over her nightstand, struggling to find it. As she struggles to wake, she grasps her alarm clock and looking at it's red numbers, blinks twice. Exchanging it for the phone receiver she shakes her head and leans up on an elbow, lost in a sea of comforters, pillows and featherbeds.

Lace clears her throat, "Hello?"

Who could be calling at this time of night? Right in the middle of that reoccuring dream about being cast as Mary Ann on The Real Gilligan's Island.

Meanwhile, the restaurant manager searches the entire premises looking for the white haired woman with the huge diamond brooch. Finally arriving at the ladies loo, she opens the door a crack, everso slowly. Peering timidly in, she slowly she opens the door fully. Her jaw drops. Shattered glass from the wall mirrors cover the floor. A stallroom door is torn from it's hinges. A tattered curtain blows softly in the breeze, the window is open. The room is... empty.